Page 42 of Misguided
FIFTEEN
Dog
Her reluctance to accept what she means to the people around her guts me. I saw the looks on everyone’s faces when she walked in—they showed hope for a change. The eyes of her brothers and sisters lit up as they saw the promise of something better.
Sure, Hooch has done the best he can since the club went to hell in a hand basket. But Mel holds something he never could—the softness that only comes with an empathetic feminine touch. They look to her, and they see someone who will care for them emotionally, not just physically.
Why can’t she see that?
Maybe her role was never more than a pretty face for most of her life, but shit, these people need that love, that light to get through the tough times. What she does for them mentally outweighs anything she could do in a traditional male role at the table.
When the devil’s knocking on our door, we all need an angel to remind us everything’s going to work out in the end.
And she’s that angel.
“Tell you what.” I place another kiss on her head and let go before I pick the woman up and take her to bed. “How about you finish this look off with makeup, hair, whatever the fuck you girls do, and we go back down there and have a few drinks. Loosen up, Mel. Show those people how much you’ve missed them, too.”
“You make it sound so easy,” she chastises, crossing the room to a low set of drawers.
“It is easy. Fake it until you make it, babe.”
Her hand still on the top drawer. “Because you know all ‘bout faking it, right?”
Why is it women can turn a perfectly uplifting conversation on its ass? “What’s this got to do with me?” I snap.
“What if I don’t want to be fake?” Mel turns, the heels of her hands resting on the drawers. “What if I thought I actually found something out there?” She jabs a hand at the clothing I’m about ready to fucking burn.
“Misery?” I ask with a shrug and a shake of my head. What the fuck else has she brought back with her?
“Reality.” She plucks at the clothes she wears, her face contorted with disgust. “This, this stuff is just some bullshit image that they all want from me. It’s all I’ve known, sure, but what if it’s not who I am?”
“You just said yourself you felt familiar with it,” I protest, my voice rising. “And now you’re sayin’ you don’t like it?”
“I just … I … urgh!” She tosses her hands in the air and slides down the drawers to the floor. Her slender hands curl into tight fists, and she pounds them punishingly into her thighs. “It’s all so fucking confusing.”
“Hey.” I drop to my knees and slide in before her, taking her fists in mine. “Why can’t you be a bit of both?”
Her dark eyes lift to find mine. “You think that’s possible?”
“Why the fuck not?” I smile with a shrug. “You said I’m the best fake there is. Learn from me, babe. It’s possible to be two people at once.”
She laughs, her hands relaxing inside mine. “We’ve known each other for what, three or four years, and I don’t even know who you really are,” she sasses. “How successful do you actually think you are at balancing two personalities when one is all you share?”
I rock back on my heels, letting go of her hands so I can offer one in a handshake. “Hi. My name’s Koen.”
“Koen?”
Fuck that sounds good on her lips—should have told her that sooner.
“I wouldn’t have picked that. Didn’t they call you something else before you got your road name?”
“Shithead. Grunt. Pisshole. Kid.” I smirk. “Take your pick. Nobody actually knew my name.”
“Koen,” she whispers again. “I like it.”
“Plus,” I say as I stand. “We’ve already met, because like you say, this is the real me.”
“And I get exclusive rights.” She smirks, pushing to stand also.